Fight to the Finish
by RivalsAreAllies
Summary: Friends become enemies. Enemies become friends. "Violence is a virus." "We are the cure."  J/C S/L E/B
1. Part I, Chapter I: A Million Miles Away

**Disclaimer: I do not own Jimmy Neutron, any affiliates, or any rights to the show, movies, literature, or merchandise.**

**_Before-You-Read Background:_**** This BOLD, "_Pre-Story Pretext_," is my important, intrinsic, "_Before-You-Read Background,_" and these "_Before-Chapter-Author-Notes_," will almost ALWAYS contain UPPER-CASE Letters, of SOME sort. Proper grammar, and other things are used CORRECTLY in these "Pretext Prologues," though. …And while you should know that, you should also know that the ACTUAL STORY WILL contain GREAT spelling, grammar, punctuation, usage-and-mechanics, syntax, and semantics. Reading/RETAINING the NEXT portion of BOLDED text of IMPORTANT INFORMATION is HIGHLY RECOMMENDED! **

**Author Announcements(s): Okay. I know I haven't finished my other JN FanFic, "_Genius: The Next Generation_," BUT, I won't finish THAT one, for, approximately, another few YEARS [Because "_Genius: The Next Generation_," Abbreviated "_GTNG_," Is, And/or, WILL-Be My MASTERPIECE (Longest, And/or, HOPEFULLY, My Greatest) Jimmy-Neutron-FanFic (Although I May Have OTHER "MASTERPIECES," In OTHER FanFic FanDoms). HOWEVER, I WILL be updating, BOTH, THAT, AND, THIS, FanFic (AND, EVERY OTHER FanFic, That I Have Going), very FREQUENTLY, until ANY AND ALL of my FanFics are finished. This idea just popped into my skull, and, I was like '_I Just HAVE To Do THIS!_' Now, this story will have a few twists, turns, romance, some medium fluff (Although The Main Couple/Paring Will NOT Be JimmyXCindy, OR, SheenXLibby), ACTION, violence, great one-liners, awesome quotes, and a very well-thought-out plot.**

**IMPORTANT INFORMATION: This story takes-place, AFTER the series-finale, of the show, "_Jimmy Neutron: Boy Genius_," and it takes-place in a DIFFERENT Universe/Timeline, than my OTHER Jimmy-Neutron-FanFic, "_GTNG_."**

***_WARNING!_*: The plot-points in here may blow your mind! …Also, I know that my OVER-Used CAPS-Lock has probably given the voice in your head (The One Reading This Back To You) a throbbing throat-ache, but please, note that these UPPERCASE "spaz-attacks" will NOT appear anywhere in the story…**

**Author's Amendment: …So, I suppose that I have nothing more to say, other than: "Please, read, review, and ENJOY!"**

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><p><strong>Fight to the Finish<strong>

**A FanFic By: D. Raj David**

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><p><strong>Part One: The Way Things Were<strong>

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><p><strong>I. A Million Miles From Home: The Prisoner's Predicament<strong>

The boy bashfully awoke with a start. His face was wet and cold. He wanted nothing more than to check his appearance, although he already knew what gave him the feeling of moistness. He was bleeding, as he often had been bleeding over the past two years. This fact, although demoralizing, was not what had stopped him from checking the current state of his face.

No matter what he knew—or rather, what he assumed he knew—about his current condition, he always wanted to physically check himself, to see how badly battered he truly was, but he was always prevented from doing so—mostly by the metal cuffs that bound his wrists behind his back. He sighed deeply. It hurt. It always hurt.

The pain was a constant thing now, and he was used to it, as the feelings of intense discomfort, pain, and tenderness had become a mundane normality to him. He was currently kneeled down, as he often was, and he had slept with his knees on the cold, dark, damp, concrete floor, with his cheek resting on the floor in front of him. As he raised his head up from the cold concrete—which took quite a bit of the small amount of energy that he had left—he felt the intense soreness in his neck that his precarious sleeping position had left in him. He must have gotten at least an hour of sleep—or so he assumed—for the pain to be this severe.

It was so severe that he actually focused more on that sensation, rather than his old wounds—the wounds had sustained over a long period of being beaten, bashed, abused, and tortured. A good number of those wounds were fresh, some open, others sealed—some cauterized. He had long since stopped caring what he looked like though—or, at least he had stopped caring what his biological half looked like. They could do little to threaten, intimidate, or berate him completely using the techniques that worked so well on other humans, mostly because he was no longer entirely human.

He looked down at the metallic plate that composed the outer face of his left shin. It still had its sheen. Granted, two years of abuse, periods of being submerged in water—and whatever other chemicals they saw fit—constant water drips, and general attempts to render his bionic parts useless had some effect, but not much. He was thankful to the Zorians for their competence, and for their work on him.

The Zorians. How long had it been since he had even seen another human? Would he ever—No. He couldn't allow himself to think like that. He had to remain strong, if not for himself, than for _her_. He sighed once again, and this time the pain that he felt could be identified as coming from a single source: his chest. He inhaled sharply. He knew what was wrong. His ribs were broken, or so he assumed, as he currently was—as he often was—unable to verify his theory.

He let his head slide back down to the cold, hard floor. He would have to wait. He always had to wait. That was a simple fact, and he had gotten quite used to it. But he found solace in one simple notion: the notion that one day—one day soon—his patience, his waiting, would pay off and he would be free, and with that freedom he would be able to return home, and see her face again. So, with his usual amount of resolve, he waited, his head listening to the ground beneath him, wondering when they might come—or for that matter, if they might come.

He waited for what seemed like an eternity, and then, without warning, a door—one fairly close by—flung open, and through it came a loud, heavy bank of footsteps. There were four sets of footfalls in all, but something was wrong, because the boy knew, for a fact, that there were five—not four—people in the group that coming towards him. The fifth was being dragged.

He could see nothing outside of his blindingly dark cell, and the dimly lit—if one could even call it that—corridor beyond did little to help his eyesight. Although he could not see the approaching group, he knew now, mostly by experience—experiences that had taught him what pain truly was—that this was the usual routine around here. The group of five stopped short, a few feet in front of the cell next to him, and while he could not see what was transpiring, he heard the deafening sound of a body hitting the floor, an armor-clad body—one of the guards.

In the seconds that followed, a struggle—a great struggle, one that seemed to last for a large amount of time—was carried out. The prisoner that he had thought unconscious was giving the four guards quite the trouble. Until a new group of guards approached, and "subdued" the prisoner, she seemed as though she had the upper hand.

There were too many footsteps for him to count how many guards had now entered the struggle. With one final shriek—one that sounded far too female, and far too terrified for that matter, to be coming from her—the prisoner stopped struggling. He sighed. He knew it was only a matter of time now. With the sound of her cell door closing, she was securely in her place. She could not be a nuisance any longer. It was his turn now.

The door to his cell clanged open, and the guards stood there, clad in black metallic armor, waiting for him to move. He did not.

"Get up, boy." one of the guards commanded him, in a voice that seemed to evoke its own sense of reproach.

The boy chuckled and smirked. "Make me." he replied defiantly.

"Every day, it is the same thing with you. Why do you not learn? Why do you not submit?" the same guard asked the boy, as he entered the boy's cell, his hands now in a position that seemed ready to "make him" get up.

"You're right. It is the same thing. Same shit. Every damn day. I have learned that. Why haven't you? You should know by now that I am not doing anything you order me to. And, believe me, it is not because I dislike you—although I don't particularly want to kiss you—but because your words mean nothing to me. Your words are exactly like the torture you put me through: it has no effect on me. …And while we're on the subject of 'learning new things,' why don't you learn to speak English **_properly_**, _or is your ability to learn new things just as feeble as your ability to understand what I'm saying right now_?" the boy responded, the last part of his statement uttered in an aggressive alien dialect.

The guard was shocked—for multiple reasons. That was the most he had spoken in the entirety of the time he had spent there, and also, besides the boy's usual "make me" comment, he had not said a word to anybody there before—especially his captors. Something—something crucial—was different today, but like many things before, the guard simply shrugged it off and continued his duties.

He dragged the boy, chains, cuffs, bracelets, and all, down the corridor, and as he was walking, he caught a glimpse of the female in the cell next him. Her battered blue skin made for a terrible sight, and as he was marched down the long hallway, she averted her eyes from his gaze, but not before she saw a deep rage enter his bruised, bloodshot eyes. This was a change. She was usually the one with a spark—anger, revenge, contempt—but, today, something had changed in her, just as something had changed in him. Things were not the same. Things were not the way they were, but he was determined to correct that.

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><p>The green Gorlockian girl sat in the cockpit of her ship, as her craft flew endlessly—at mind-splitting speeds—through the deep void of space. A monotone alert alarm rang-out in her small craft, and with that, she flipped a switch, and a holographic view of an anchored structure came into view. She smirked. Her pearly white fangs were now clearly visible. She was one step closer to her goal: to finishing it. The words of the monster echoed in her head: '<em>That's right, honey do what your daddy tells you. Run.<em>' She was running alright, running across the universe to find him, to _kill _him. That monster attacked her world, her home, her family. He was wrong about so many things, cruel in the way he did things, and remorseless about the terrible atrocities he had committed on countless worlds before her own. He was right about one thing, though: this was a fight to the finish.

**A/N: …Well… …There it is. The first chapter has been posted. This story WILL be pretty LONG, granted NOT as long as "_GTNG_," but, still, pretty long. Who's the boy? Who's the girl? Where's Jimmy? What did the description of my story even mean? What the hell is a E/B Pairing? Who ARE those characters? OCs? Nope. There is only one way to answer all of these questions: stay tuned for the next update. …OH, and PLEASE R&R!**


	2. The Other Neutron

**Disclaimer: I do NOT own Jimmy Neutron, or anything associated with said franchise.**

**Author Announcement(s): I know, I know. Those of you who read my second Jimmy-Neutron-FanFic, are probably all like, "At LEAST Post A CHAPTER of "_GTNG_," BEFORE You Update THIS Story!" I am going to post a chapter of "_GTNG_" TODAY! I promise. But I just HAVE to finish Part I of THIS story quite soon, because I just HAVE to get the character intros OUT of the way! …Anyways, here is Part I, Chapter II, of "_Fight To The Finish_." I hope you all enjoy!**

**II. The Other Neutron**

He regained consciousness—only to lose it again. The paddle came swinging towards his skull with such speed and precision that he barely had time to register what the item was before it made contact with his cranium. He was out—out like a light.

The boy stood there, in front of the Marine guards—one of which held the bloody paddle—while both of his hands were bound at the wrist and strapped to a taught nylon cord, which fastened him to the wall behind him. He had nowhere to go, just as he had nowhere to go for the past four years.

The boy's face was bleeding profusely, more so than the two Marine guards knew their superior would be grateful for. Just as the two guards had conjured a thought of their dear general, the steel door to the "containment" chamber slid open to reveal the tall, sturdy, robust figure of General Michael Harlan-Fitch.

He looked less than pleased, as his large, muscular, face was contorted in a fashion similar to that of disgust. The large scar across his face showed only anger and resentment; those were the only two emotions that the scar was ever good at showing. All else was useless to the general. The general sighed deeply, and this time, he seemed to accept the utter stupidity and incompetence that his two subordinates seemed to exude.

The two guards saluted the general crisply, and then, once he returned the gesture—albeit in a languid and uncaring fashion—the two Marines began to catapult themselves into their usual song and dance about what had happened, what went wrong, and how it was anything but their fault. The general raised his hand. They stopped. He didn't want to hear it. With every passing word that the two men in front of him uttered, his temper visibly flared and raised, almost to a point of no return. Thankfully, at least for the two guards, he stopped them before they could anger him any further.

They stopped talking and stood in front of their superior at attention, awaiting his words, and ready to cringe at the harshness of it. The general scanned the general surface area of the room, and his eyes finally settled on the boy who was fastened to the wall directly opposite him. He sighed, and once again, the two well-trained Marines took a step back and cringed slightly. The general eyed the boy in front of him very carefully. The boy's head was hung, limply, while the rest of his body was supported by nothing more than the tightness of the cords that bound his body.

The boy had wounds, gashes, and marks—marks that told a violent story—all across his body, and now, with the boy's shirt completely torn off, the extent of the injuries that he had sustained were now clearly visible. Although the numerous wounds he had sustained were very visible, it was also quite clear that the boy was very physically fit, and had a well-defined physical physique. He looked to be about the age of sixteen, perhaps slightly older, but not by much. It could even have been hypothesized that, had he not been beaten and battered so much, he would have made quite the threat.

The boy had lost noticeable amounts of blood, but his valuable body fluid had not traveled far, and one could easily see where his blood had ended up. The white walls of the room around the four men were splashed with the occasional red stains, and the white contrast of the background walls only made for a ghastly sight, as the bright red blood spatters seemed to jump out at anyone who dared to even glance at them.

The general approached the boy and grabbed his chin. The swiftness and viciousness of the act sent the two Marines another few steps back. He raised the boy's head to his own eye level, and he saw that his eyelids were closed, yet not shut tight. He looked quite unconscious. The general was not convinced. He had seen what the boy was capable of. Even before he had been "inducted" into the "program," he had extraordinary gifts, which is what made him an excellent candidate for the program in the first place. He knew what the boy could handle, what he could take, and how much of it he take.

He had known this for four years. He had the boy in his custody for four years and he not once seen even the slightest sign of his breaking point. So then, why had he chosen now? What was different about this time? He went unconscious from a "little" whack to the head? '_Hmph, not likely_.' thought the general. He chuckled as he thought of all the ways he could convince the boy to give up his charade of feigning unconsciousness. The general grabbed the boy's dark auburn hair and yanked it—hard—pulling the boy's head into the general's own personal space.

"Wakey, wakey, sunshine." he said mockingly as he spat his comment in his vehement breath, which reeked of tobacco. The boy did not budge. The general chuckled once again, but this time it had far more malicious tinge to it. He turned his attention the two guards—which were now quite a distance behind the general. "Take him the '_Repair Room_,' and once he's 'all better,' bring him back here for round two." the general ordered his men.

The two Marines saluted their superior and, just as Fitch was preparing to leave the room, he heard a sound, an unmistakable sound. He smirked. He turned around to see the boy starring directly into the general's eyes, as his own hazel eyes burned with a sort comical disdain. The boy had smirk on his face as well. "Well, well. Finally awake, are we?" the general inquired, looking directly into the boy's hazel eyes. The boy chuckled. The general stepped forward and, in a swift and hastily executed motion, he grabbed the boy by his neck, and uttered his violently vicious words. "…And just what the hell is so damn funny?" he asked the boy, making his comment seem more like a command then a question.

The boy laughed as he responded, seeming to be somewhat amused by all that was transpiring. "You are, general. You're a real comedian, you know that?" the boy laughed. The large amount of blatant disrespect boiled the general's temper to new-found heights.

"You little insolent fool. You talk to me like that again, and I'll cut your useless little vocal cords out." The general spat, and as he did so, he unsheathed his combat knife that was strapped on his upper left lapel. He waved the steel blade in front of the boy, and he smirked again.

"Sounds like fun." the boy responded, looking very serious this time.

"Get his ass out of here." the general commanded of the two Marines before him. They nodded and saluted him. They grabbed the boy. They performed a very intricate ritual to ensure that the boy could not be a threat to them; these actions included shackling his feet together, binding his hands and arms together, and holding him at gunpoint. As he was being escorted out of the white-walled room, he turned to the general and addressed him directly.

"…Oh, and general?" the boy started, addressing his captor.

"What?" the general responded, now incredibly irate, as his hastily-spat response blatantly said exactly that.

"Don't ever touch my hair again." the boy responded, and as he finished his statement, he spat a well-prepared wad of saliva directly into the general's already angry face.

The general took his sweet time in wiping his face clean of the boy's saliva. He now addressed the two Marines, who were now once again frozen in place. "When you bring him back here, make sure you let me know. I want to be here to greet him, _personally_." the general said menacingly. He now looked at the boy and talked directly to him. "We're gonna have some fun tonight, Eddie." he said, and as he was walking out of the room, he made one last comment: "Oh, and I almost forgot, I still have to visit the other Neutron. Anything you'd like me to tell your dear cousin for you?" he asked, and as he did so, the boy's face contorted in a clear combination of anger, fury, and hate. The two Marines escorted the boy out of the room and down the long, brightly lit, corridor, allowing him no time to respond. The general exited the room a few moments later, making his way towards the other Neutron.

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><p>Cindy Vortex stormed up to her room and slammed the door. She slammed herself on her bed, her anger far superseding her emotion of pain. She wanted to cry, but she wanted to kill far more. She took her pillow and began to pummel it with well-placed punches and, as she did so, her pace, her fury, and her violence increased with every blow, until the pillow no longer existed, and in its place, remained only a pile of feathers.<p>

She breathed deeply. It did not help. She looked at her hands. She clenched and unclenched her fists to get a proper view of her hands' current condition. Her knuckles were covered in blood, but it was not her own.

It was Butch's blood. She smiled at this oddly comforting fact. She walked into her adjoining bathroom and washed the body fluid off her hands. Just as she was walking back into her bedroom, her cell phone, which was currently housed in her pocket, began to ring. She sighed and reached her hand into her pocket, and came out with the phone in her hand. She sighed once again and answered the call. She was the first to speak, allowing the other participant of the call no time to talk.

"Ugh, Libby, I already told you. I don't want to talk about it." Cindy shot, and while to the untrained ear she might have sounded angry and spiteful, Cindy knew that her best friend knew better.

"It's not Libby. Don't you check your phone before you answer it?" a voice, one Cindy recognized almost immediately, responded.

"…Betty?" Cindy replied questioningly. Cindy was somewhat surprised, but considering what had transpired over the past few years, the past few months especially, she was not entirely too surprised to hear Betty's voice.

"…Um, yeah. Look, I know you probably don't want to talk to anyone right now, but after what happened today, I just felt like I had to call. Are you alright?" she inquired, and her voice was just as sincere as she meant it to sound. She truly wanted a genuine answer to her question.

"Listen, I appreciate the call, but I really don't feel like talking about it right now." Cindy responded, sounding a little more harshly than she intended to. She cringed at her tone, after she registered it in her own ears.

Betty, however, seemed to be completely unfazed by her tone. That was something one got used to—and very fast—when one was a friend with Cindy Vortex. "I get it. Still, I think it'd be a good idea if you came over." Betty replied, still wanting to help.

"…Betty...—" Cindy started, but trailed off and was also simultaneously interrupted by Betty's voice.

"I already called Libby. She's on her way. Seriously, Cin. Please?" Betty now pleaded.

Cindy chuckled at Betty's efficiency. "Ha, alright. I'll be over in a few."

"Okay, cool." Betty replied, seeming a little more hopeful.

"You and Libby, both, are so damn persistent. You'd think that at this point, I'd get pissed off by it." Cindy said, chuckling slightly.

"…Or, at least, get used to by now." Betty responded, chuckling herself.

"…Hey Betty?" Cindy started.

"...Yes?" Betty replied.

"Thanks." Cindy stated, and it was clear that, for the first time in a very long time, she was sincere.

"…Welcome Cin. Anytime. See you in few." and with that, Betty hung up, and ended the conversation.

Cindy gathered some her belongings and prepared to leave her house, but not before noticing something—the same thing that she noticed every time she left her room in the past four years. It was a newspaper clipping that she had tacked to her wall. The headline of the article read: "_Jimmy Neutron, Boy Genius, Dead at the Age Of 12_."

**A/N: Well, there is chapter two. …See what I mean about the plot points? There are far too many questions to type here, so just let them circle around in your head, and let them grow there and fester, and drive you insane with the suspense (*Cue EVIL Laugh: "MWAHAHAHA!"*)! …Ahem… …Anyways, stay tuned for the next update, and PLEASE R&R!**


	3. New Friends and Old Flashbacks

**Disclaimer: I do not own Jimmy Neutron, or anything associated with him, or his SUPER-COOL Cousin (Seriously, Read-On, And You'll See What I Mean About That!)!**

**Accolades/Appreciation: Thanks for all my AWESOME readers/reviewers of this story, for your favorites, subscriptions, reviews, feedback, and generally awesome comments! ONWARD!**

**Author Announcements(s): There REALLY is no need for an A/N here, but, I just felt like writing one. I apologize for wasting your time—truly. You're still reading, aren't you? Why can't you stop? You do realize that you can just ignore this useless A/N and start reading the ACTUAL CHAPTER! No? You'd much rather be bored by me typing useless nonsensicalness (That IS A Real Word)? Why? Just start reading the chapter. Seriously. You're only wasting your own time. I did not waste my own time typing this. This is actually helping me alleviate some stress (And Some Other Stuff). You know what? Fine. I'll start the chapter, then. If you refuse to read the actual text of the story, rather than scanning through this idiotic, useless A/N, then FINE, I'll just have to start the chapter already. SERIOUSLY just READ the damn chapter! DAMMIT, I'll just have to sto—**

**III. New Friends and Old Flashbacks**

The young Gorlockian lay there, helplessly, as the monster ended her father's life. All she could do was watch. So that is exactly what she did. Through her tear filled eyes, she watched as her beloved father's life was stripped away from him, slowly, painfully. Her tears began to sting her face, as the salty solution ran across her bruised, beaten and bashed face. The pain was intense as the salty tears graced the many cuts and abrasions on her face, but she did not emit any sound of pain. She didn't even wince. She was far too focused on her father—and on being strong. But she was failing horribly at being strong.

Her father had taught her to be strong—_much _stronger that _this_, this _pathetic _crying little girl that lay before the murderer killing her father. She _had _to be strong. But how could she? The one who had taught her all she knew about being "_strong_," was being killed, slowly, painfully, right in front of her eyes. How could she be strong while watching this? She couldn't.

The man's small piece of serrated steel surrounded itself in a field of electric blue flames, and the small piece of steel swung down, intending to slice the girl's father, thus separating his head from his neck. But, as the blade went to remove the Gorlockian's head, its speed slowed down significantly. The moment that the blade made contact with his green neck, the monster switched from a slicing motion, to a sawing motion. The monster intended to give her father a _slow and painful _death. And he intended for her to watch. And she did just that.

April watched as tears streamed down her face.

Her father did not give the man the satisfaction of hearing him scream, or even whimper for that matter. He held firm, and he locked eyes with his daughter. Her purple eyes saw his own through her tears, and he looked saddened. He was slowly losing his life, his head slowly becoming detached from his body, and his blood was pooling beside him, but his firm facial expression did not falter.

His daughter—the girl that had been taught and trained since birth, taught and trained to do one thing, to _kill_—sat there and watched her father die right before her eyes. His final words still echoed in her head.

"April. Live. Live, April. Live and remember." his hoarse voice croaked out before the blade finally made its way through his neck. April now shifted her view up to the man who had been the cause of her father's death, the man who had attacked her planet, the man whose face she would never forget.

The man stood up, walking as calmly as he could, and sheathing his knife in its case as he did so. His calm demeanor looked so very out of place, as the rest of the "_Capitol Building_" of "_Planet Gorlock_," behind her burned in ferocious flames that seemed to want to kill just as badly as the man—the _monster_—in front of her did.

He finally reached her side, and he kneeled down to the young twelve-year-old Gorlockian girl with tears in her eyes. He spoke to her, and they were words that would haunt her deepest nightmares, her deepest memories, her deepest fears, words that she would never forget, and would never want to.

"You are sad, little one? Afraid, perhaps? Well then, you should _run_, if you are afraid. That's right, honey, do what your daddy tells you. Run. He knew what he was getting into. He ended his own life; I was simply the tool he used to do it. It was his end. Everything has a definite end. Violence is a virus. We are the cure. You must understand that. Violence is spreading though, and it is an ongoing fight to stop the spread, and it is simultaneously a fight to the finish. We will meet again, and when we do, it will be yet another definite end in an everlasting and ongoing war. When next I see you, I should only hope that your eyes are free of tears. Otherwise, you would miss your certain end, and you wouldn't want to miss that, now would you?" he said and smirked as he stood up and walked away, leaving the small preteen green girl there to cry.

That was the last time that she cried. She was done crying. After that she started killing.

She jolted awake, and her skin was covered in a sheen of sweat—cold, cruel sweat that reminded her that it was more than a nightmare, that it was a _memory_. Through the large viewport directly in front of her, the giant and gaping void of space stretched on to eternity in every direction. She looked around, and she surmised that she was still in the cockpit of her ship, spiraling through space at mind-shattering speeds. She had fallen asleep at the controls—again.

She sighed, and she quickly and quietly adjusted the controls on the consoles in front of her, before exiting the pilot's seat that she was sitting at. She set the autopilot, and she raised her stiff and sore body from the seat. She descended the small raised platform that separated the pilot's seat from the rest of the very small and cramped room that surrounded her. She exited the sickeningly silver and steel-feeling room, only to enter a small hallway where the same color pervaded every one of her senses. Before she could go any further, though, she saw something that stopped her dead in her tracks.

Right in front of her was a small boy, a boy with the same color skin, same demeanor, and same darkly deep purple hair—although his was spiked up in a chaotically organized manner. All of these features caught her eye, but it was the look on his face, the look in his deep violet eyes, that _kept _her attention.

April stopped moving, and she addressed the small boy before her, as she asked her question carefully. "What's wrong, Lucas?" she asked in a surprisingly sweet and sincere tone. He was the only person with whom she was ever sweet with. Everyone else, she clearly wanted to kill—or at least seriously maim.

"…I-I…" the boy named Lucas responded in a choppy voice, dropping off and trailing into the distance.

April smiled a genuine smile at the boy. She hadn't smiled a genuine smile in very long time. She knew what was bothering young Lucas.

"You have a bad dream?" she asked.

He simply nodded his head.

"About father?" she prodded even further.

He nodded again. Then, he lowered his head to the floor.

She smiled. "So did I." she replied honestly. Lucas looked up at his sister, seeming slightly hopeful.

"Really?" he asked.

"Yeah. Scared me a little too." she said, and he looked wide-eyed.

"…B-But, _nothing_ scares _you_. You're so brave" Lucas responded.

"Lucas, _everything _scares me. That's why I'm so angry. Being brave isn't about not having any fear. Being brave is about having the power to _overcome _fear." April reassured him, and he smiled back at her.

"How do you do that?" he asked.

"…Well, me, personally, I turn my fear into anger. …And then I let it out on my enemies." she said, and Lucas laughed softly. She was telling the truth. She did have some serious anger issues, but Lucas always took that as a sign of her strength. She would _never _let an enemy defeat her, and he knew that she would _never _let anybody hurt her little brother. He took some solace in that.

"…You wanna see me rip apart some androids in the training room?" she questioned, and he beamed at her, as she giggled and scooped him up in her arms, bounding down to the training room.

Back in the cockpit of the ship, the computers and consoles kept reading out the distances between the ship and its destination—its _target_. And they were constantly getting closer.

* * *

><p>"So, what sounds good? Looking at some sappy, ridiculously overacted, generically plotted, romantic comedy; gossiping about useless, yet somehow starkly entertaining and enigmatic things; or going down to the pool and pretending to drown, so that Tommy has to take his shirt off and jump in after you?" Betty asked, in a seriously sarcastic voice. These were all things that <em>neither <em>of the three girls in her living room would _ever _do. She was lightly making fun of the vast majority of the flimsy female population.

Libby giggled, and Cindy rolled her eyes. "I dunno about you, but I'll take option three." Libby responded a little too earnestly. Cindy gave her a look. "_What_? He _is _hot! He could use a little more shirtless time!" she refuted, and Cindy rolled her eyes at her friend—again.

"Libby, what would Sheen sa—" Betty started, before Cindy roughly elbowed her in the side, effectively cutting Betty off. It was too late though. Libby had heard enough. She looked downcast at the carpet beneath her. Sheen wouldn't say anything. Because Sheen wasn't here. No one knew where he was, and everyone assumed he was dead. Except Libby. She still held out hope, even after attending his funeral where there was no body was present. After Sheen left in Jimmy's rocket, everything and anything that could have gone wrong, did go wrong.

Jimmy died, and Sheen went missing. Jimmy died, surprisingly, in a self-sacrificial move to save his younger cousin's life. It was an effort gone in vain, though, because Eddie had been killed anyways. Eddie and Jimmy had been battling each other for some time, but soon they were forced to work together—although it didn't help much, as they were both beaten, regardless. The large battle that the two genius cousins had been involved in had been interrupted by a group of lethal Russian renegades. The two cousins were geniuses, but they weren't that smart. They had chosen war-torn, dangerously split, viciously violent, and enemy-occupied Russia to hold their fight in.

Of course it wasn't their fault that the two had been in this location. Jimmy had been led there by the U.S. Intelligence that claimed that Eddie was assisting these deadly renegades. Instead, he found that Eddie was actually trying to _stop_ these Russian renegades. Eddie felt that these Russian insurgents—with their advanced technology, massive minds, and belligerence-and-battle-smarts—were encroaching on his "_Evil Genius_" territory, and he wanted to eliminate the "competition."

Eddie claimed that he too was fed information and intelligence by the U.S. Government. Jimmy didn't believe him—obviously—and the two engaged in their usual battle of the brains, when the Russians intervened—almost as if ordered to do so exactly on time.

Sheen, Jimmy, and Eddie were all gone, all dead. Yet, there was still some part of Libby that held true, and unwaveringly believed that Sheen wasn't dead.

Libby continued looking down at the carpet, and Cindy performed a similar action. She hadn't even gotten to hear what Jimmy had made of their one and only kiss after his month-and-a-half in solitary confinement, where he, as he put it, was "sorting out the scientific aspects of the unexpected display of affection." Cindy was furious that he had taken so long to make _any _decision about it, regardless of what it was. Even if he had decided to like the kiss, she probably would have killed him—after she kissed him again. But she never got the chance. He was dead.

Betty looked at her two downcast friends, and she felt terrible. This was her fault. She should have known better. Suddenly an idea popped into her head; it was an idea to cheer the two up.

"Hey guys, let's take a trip to the dojo." Betty said in sly voice, and both Cindy and Libby looked up at her with a mixture of disbelief and delight.

"You and Cin gonna fight?" Libby asked, and Betty simply nodded, smirking as she did so. Libby smiled in return.

"I'm going to make a few calls, then. We can leave in a few." Libby responded. She got up from her seated position on the floor, pulling out her cell phone as she made her way to the kitchen to make some calls.

A fight between Betty Quinlan and Cindy Vortex was something that _no one _would want to miss.

Ever since the night that Cindy had found Betty brutally bashing her fists against a training dummy in the dojo—the dojo that Betty had somehow broken into herself—Cindy had seen her skill and speed. Betty was untrained, untamed, and chaotic, but she had a toughness and tenacity about her that Cindy never knew could hidden behind her annoyingly sweet exterior.

There was something else that night that stupefied Cindy. The tears streaming down her face and the obscenities flying out of Betty's mouth had done nothing but surprise the already-shocked Cindy Vortex, who was watching Betty wail on the Dummy—until it was in mere pieces. Cindy was just finishing up a night class that fatefully fortunate night, and her dojo master had been watching Betty as well.

His instruction to induct Betty into their dojo and be her personal trainer was the last thing that Cindy wanted or expected, but she obliged the old man, because she had respect for him. That was four years ago, and two weeks before Jimmy's apparent death. Since then, the two were inseparable.

Betty was taken out of her reverie, only to return to the sight of a smirking Cynthia Vortex.

"…_What_…?" Betty asked her.

"Oh, nothing. …But, you do know that I won't be going easy on you, right? Don't be _too _mad, if you can't walk in the morning." Cindy said, and now it was Betty who smirked in return.

"If I won't be able to walk, then you won't be able to talk. This is a two-way street, honey. If we stand together—" Betty was interrupted, as Cindy finished the chanting creed of their dojo.

"—Then, we fall together." Cindy finished, smirking once again. This was just what she needed to get her mind off if things—a good, gruesome, gory fight.

Libby walked back into the living room, and the two other friends rose from their sitting positions, and stood to greet her.

"How many are coming?" Cindy questioned Libby cautiously.

"Entire school." Libby responded, smiling in victory. Betty and Cindy went wide-eyed. "C'mon, _everyone's _waiting." Libby urged her two friends to hurry up, saying the word "_everyone_" a little too literally. _Everyone _really was waiting.

**A/N: Well, please R&R, and let me know what you think! Stay tuned for the next update!**


	4. Friends and Foes

**Disclaimer: I do not own Jimmy Neutron, or anything associated with said franchise.**

**_Author Apologies(s): _****PLEASE, read ANY AND ALL of the following BOLDED text! Wow. Well, first of all, it has been a long time. I am so very sorry for the ridiculously-late response/update. I was caught-up with real-life, for a while (Baseball, Track-And-Field, Graduation, College Finalizations, Etc.), and my FIRST thought was to keep-track-of, and respond to any and all of the outstanding message-conversations that I have on this here site—and update any and all of my existing FanFictions. However, just as I got back on this site, I realized something: I have been reviewing/revising/re-writing my FanFictions, BEFORE I upload/update them, but it was NEVER ANYWHERE CLOSE to how much I NEEDED To review/revise/re-write them! ...So, I STARTED reviewing, revising, and rewriting ANY AND ALL of my FanFictions, and just when I was about HALF-WAY through doing that (I Have OVER 200,00 WORDS Published/Posted On This Godforsaken Site! Do You Know How LOOOOOONG That Takes To Review/Revise/Rewrite?! VERY LONG!), and about to respond to any and all of my messages, when my life fell apart—literally.**

**Between psychotic breaks, episodic events, and metal crazes, (All Of Which Were Caused By My Life, That Just Happened To Turn Super-Sucky), I was, well, incapacitated.**

**You don't need an excuse. But, you do deserve one.**

**The good news (For EVERYONE) is the following. Writing my OWN ORIGINAL Books-Series (There Are FOUR, SEPARATE, UN-Related, Book-Series, And Hopefully, I Will Have A Literary Agent/Publishing-Deal, In A Year, OR Two! …On The SLIM Chances That Is DOES Actually Occur, Or Happen…), looking for agents, looking-into-querying, and FAN-FICTION have become my outlet! ...So, my depressing life will make for AWESOME FanFiction, with HAPPY undertones (But, My Stories/FanFictions Will STILL Have Character-Deaths [Well, SOME], Gore, Blood [NOT TOO Much, Though], Romance, And NO OOC-Ness, OR Mary-Sues, Mind-You!).**

**I have JUST finished-up reviewing/revising/rewriting my CURRENTLY-POSTED chapters of any and all Fan Fictions, and today is the day that I shall be updating ANY AND ALL of my FanFictions. And, also, today is also the day, that I will-be starting three NEW FanFictions, and they will be the LAST FanFictions that I will EVER start—unless, I decide to do a cross-over, between my DC-Comics-FanFiction, and my MARVEL-Comics-FanFiction (BOTH, The MARVEL-FanFiction, AND, The DC-Fan Fiction, Features A Teenage, Next-Gen-Hero-Team, So Having Them Team-Up In A Cross-Over Would Be Kind-Of Cool. …But, IF I Do That Cross-Over, Then That Definitely Would Be The LAST Fan Fiction That I EVER START!)! For a timeline of future updates you should know this: "_I Will NOT Cancel ANY Of My FanFictions!_" I WILL FINISH THEM ALL! …If you wish to have a better idea of how often updates will be coming, though, I have FOUR FanFictions that take precedent over my others, and as such, those four will probably be updated faster than others. You should all note, however, that I WILL be updating ANY AND ALL of my FanFictions! However, I am unsure, as to how long each update will take, so PLEASE HAVE PATIENCE! So, to keep-up with the updates, PLEASE, subscribe to me/my-story, favorite me/my-story, or message me and ask me to personally message you whenever I DO update, and I will HAPPILY do so!**

**_Author Advertisement(s): _****That's right. Ads. I have TWELVE—Count-'Em, TWELVE—FanFictions On here, that will ALL end-up, being OVER 100K-Words, and they will ALL be updated REGULARLY—HOPEFULLY—from this point-on. …So, if you happen to read in any of the OTHER FanFic FanDoms, that I write for, then, PLEASE, by all means, do NOT hesitate to check-out some of my OTHER FanFictions! Check-out my profile for more information (And Some Awesome Quotes, As Well!), and MESSAGE ME, if you have ANY questions, or just want to chat! I, contrary to popular belief, LOVE to hear from fellow FanFiction-Readers, as-well-as, my own readers! …Also, it should be noted, that ANY AND ALL of my Comic-Based-FanFictions, are VERY EASY to understand, and they are MADE for EVEN a NOVICE/NON-Comics-Reader, to be able to understand VERY EASILY, and things are explained VERY clearly in these above-mentioned Comic-Based-FanFictions, of my own creation.**

**_Accolades/Appreciation: _****Thanks for ANY/ALL of the reviews! I really appreciate them, and I take them all into account. Don't stop now, though! ONWARD!**

**IV. Friends and Foes**

The boy sat silently still, awaiting the pain that was sure to come. He lucidly looked around the room, and he discerned any and all of the exits that the room held. There were none. He was trapped. The only exit that the room had was the door that he had previously entered through.

The blindingly bright white room was a very deep contrast to the dank, damp, dark cell that he had been used to living in for so long. The boy fidgeted slightly. The sturdy steel chair was cold and unforgiving against his back. He sighed, and his entire body shivered suddenly as he did so.

The door that lead to hallway beyond the white-walled room finally stirred, as it opened with a jarring jolt. The boy sat up straight, and his attention immediately focused on the being that walked through the door.

The boy skillfully scanned the newcomer, his experienced ember-colored eyes swiftly surveying the man in his entirety. The man that had entered the room was tall, thin, muscular, kempt, and he was clearly not human. Although he looked human, his actions told a different story. He wasn't human. But he acted like one. He was just as smug, sinister, and sure of himself as any human could have been.

The man sat down at the stainless steel table, directly across from the boy.

The man held a stack of files in his hands, and his hardened hands seemed to be misplaced, when compared to the rest of the man's lithe figure. But then the man closed the file and looked up.

The boy met the man's hardened hazel eyes, and he had to resist the urge to cringe. The boy realized that the man's hands fit him perfectly. They were the hands of a killer. This man looked little, logical, and lithe. But he was lethal. He was an oxymoron, a living deception. He was a deathtrap.

The man wore a striking suit, dressed in bold black and blood red. The colors were dark, dreadful, and dangerous—_very _dangerous. The colors suited the man well. The man smiled cynically, as he spoke, splitting the deafening silence with his viper-like, venomous voice.

"I would start with a question, but you would not answer me. So, instead, I will start with a statement—a _fact_." the man said suddenly, closing the file he was holding and setting the papers down on the table.

The boy looked up at the man across from him, his deranged dark hair and dangerously dark eyes silently stating that the man should have kept the boy's shackles on. The man chuckled mirthlessly.

"That fact is simple one. Violence is a virus. We are the cure." the man continued.

The boy did not move a muscle. But his mind raced at speeds he had previously thought impossible.

"You are a violent young man, a violent young _human_. You think that violence has its uses, but you are wrong. Violence has only one purpose. Violence is the only means, by which we can _end _violence. Violence is a virus, and violence is the cure. You are both a hindrance to the virus, and to the cure. I found this interesting, and as such, I decided to study you. I know many things, and what I do not know, I _learn_. So, I decided to learn about _you_." the man finished speaking.

The boy raised an eyebrow. "If you wanted to learn about _violence_, then all you had to do was _ask_." the boy spat back, vehemently. The man smiled.

"I have no need to ask anything of anyone, when the service is owed to me. And _everything _is owed to me." the man replied. The boy scoffed.

"Including a painful demise." the boy added.

The man laughed. "No, I owe my demise to the universe. It will happen, eventually. But when it does, I will have done what is necessary. I will have followed the rules. I will have eliminated the virus." the man said seriously.

The boy looked at him incredulously. "You, and your '_colleagues_,' attack whole worlds. You kill people—_billions _of people. You kill _innocents_. You are no cure. You are a disease. You don't follow any rules. You break them. You break them all. You're calm, collected, and controlled. Control isn't _fair_, though. Chaos is unhampered, unchangeable, and uninhibited. Chaos is _fair_. I'm chaotic, and you're controlling. You _make _the rules. Then you _break_ the rules. The rules are the only things tying me to this life, to this world. I like the rules. I have come to appreciate them. I used to hate them, but now they are all I have to live for. You break the rules, and I'm going to break you for that." the boy voiced venomously.

The man smiled sinisterly. "You are curious. I will learn much from you. I will enjoy dissecting you. You are unquestionable, but you are wrong. This universe is governed by rules. Rules were made to be broken, though. The ironic truth is, that by breaking the rules, we follow them. The rule of this universe is a simple one. The strong live, and the weak die. The universe sustains itself. The universe gives any and all of us _life_. We give it back. It is a cycle. The universe is always bettering itself. If it did not do this, then there would no point in its existence. The universe can _only _better itself, though, if it is populated with _resilient_ beings, boundless beings, beings of strength. The weak must die for this to be accomplished. Violence is a weakness. It divides us. It destroys us. I destroy it. I am a being of strength. I do not tolerate weakness. So, I eliminate it. Humans are violent beings. They are illogical. They are _logically _illogical. I must study them, and you are the perfect specimen to do just that, '_Prisoner 313_.' You, will be studied, and the important information that we will learn will be applied to any and all humans. You are your greatest ally, and your greatest enemy. You will kill yourself, '_Prisoner 313_.'" the man readily replied, smiling one again.

"You are human, yet you want to destroy the humans. You are a traitor. Traitors break the rules. You are a traitor, yet you claim to follow the rules. You make no sense." the boy responded adamantly.

"Humans are a weakness. They are a weak species. You are a prime example. You, and your fellow Zorian soldiers fought us for years. Yet, you failed. You failed because you were weak. Weakness must be eliminated. Violence is virus, and humans are the perfect carriers for this deadly disease. They must be eliminated, and so they will be. Humans are weak. I am not weak; I am not human—not anymore. I no longer claim that pitiful race as my own. They have returned the favor, and as such, I am no traitor. I am simply a logically lethal man. I am '_The Cure_.'" the man responded, as he lifted himself from his seat, and began to turn toward the exit. He was finished with the boy. He had said all that he needed to say.

Before he left the white-walled room, however, the man stopped short, and spoke over his shoulder. "I will learn how to kill you, boy. I always learn, and I always succeed. But, you must learn too. You must to learn to accept what you cannot change. You must learn your place, and your place is on the floor of your cell, '_Prisoner 313_.'" the man said threateningly.

The boy clenched his fists. "My name is _not _'_Prisoner 313_!' I _have _a name, and you _will _learn that, too!" the boy yelled back.

The man turned around. "And, why would I need to learn such a useless piece of information?" the man asked, seeming to find the boy's comment amusing.

"…Because you should know the name of your superiors." the boy replied, smirking triumphantly.

The man frowned and shook his head. "You have a lot to learn, Mr. Estevez." the man said, as he lunged across the table at the boy, and skillfully slammed him into the cold, concrete floor beneath him. The man forcefully pushed the boy's face into the floor, as he keenly kneeled on his back. "And, I will be happy to teach to you." the man said menacingly, as he pressed the boy's face harder into the floor.

The boy smiled. "Really? Because I'm a terrible student. I've never respected authority, and I've always rebelled." he replied.

The man sighed. "You will change. You will learn." he said, as he relented.

"I don't know many things. But, I _do _know how to _kill_. I use what I know to act. I _don't know_ a lot, but I do_ act_ _a lot_." the boy said, smirking surely into the cold floor beneath him.

"You will kill. You will kill yourself. You are your greatest enemy, Mr. Estevez. You will change, and you will learn." the man said, easing himself off of the defeated boy, and straightening his suit.

The boy swiftly spun around, and skillfully swept the man's feet out from under him, sending him crashing to the floor. The boy then caught the man's throat a few moments before he hit the floor. The boy then forcefully flung the man into the opposite wall, and he crashed into it with a sinister sound. "I doubt it. Old habits die hard." the boy said, smirking at the man.

The man got to his feet, and he looked unamused. The boy assumed a fighting stance. The man sighed deeply, and he dusted himself off, while shaking his head. He swiftly, skillfully, lunged at the boy, and he deftly ducked under the boy's blows, as he lucidly launched himself up, impacting the boy under his chin with the back of his hand. The boy crashed backwards, unconscious.

"Yes, old habits die hard. …But, they _do _die." the man said, opening the door to the room, and silently signaling for the two guards outside to escort the boy back to his cell. They did so, without question.

* * *

><p>Libby stood in the center of the training room of the dojo. She smiled triumphantly, as she saw the many familiar faces that lined the stands around her. The school watched the small square in the center of the room, anxiously, as they waited for the two fatal females to fight.<p>

Libby walked around, collecting bets, and making light conversation, but she stopped short when she saw the next person that walked through the doors of the dojo. It was Carl Wheezer. His red, raggedy, hair was a bedraggled mess, and Carl himself looked exhausted, fatigued, and extremely emaciated. Carl had barely spoken since Jimmy and Sheen had left Retroville, both in their own ways. Carl had barely even eaten. He only ate when Libby brought food for him. He only talked when Cindy asked him to do so. He never smiled. He rarely ever came out of his house anymore.

Libby dropped the bucket that held the large amounts of cash that people were betting with, and she hurriedly hustled over to Carl. She reached his side, and he straightened up, revealing that he was actually a full head taller than Libby. Libby looked closer at his form, and she saw that he wasn't as emaciated as she had thought, but he was still scarily skinny.

She smiled warmly up at him. "Hey, Carl. Come out to watch the monsters fight?" Libby asked him jokingly. Carl nodded solemnly.

Libby sighed. He didn't smile. He never smiled. She smiled sincerely at him, and gestured to the stands, which were full of students. "You can sit up there. I'm taking bets. Want in? I'd split it evenly on _both _of them. No one knows that you can do that. Don't tell; it'll be our little secret." she said with mirth, chuckling slightly.

Carl shook his head, and he made his way over to the stands. Libby shook her head, and she went to retrieve the bucket of cash, only to find Butch digging through it.

Libby put her hands on her hips, and stared sinisterly at him. Butch looked up to face her, and he gulped slightly. He had just been beaten by Cindy Vortex. He didn't need to be beaten by her friend, as well. Libby rolled her eyes, and picked up the bucket, as she resumed her task of walking around and taking bets. She got to Nick, and he put five dollars in the bucket.

"Who are you putting that on?" Libby asked, and he gave her a noncommittal shrug.

"Two hot girls fighting to a bloody finish. No matter who loses, we win. Put the money on whoever you want. Or keep it, for all I care. It's worth it." he said, smirking at her. Libby rolled her eyes, as she continued on her way, collecting bets.

Libby finally finished her task, and she retreated to the back room, where Cindy and Betty were waiting.

"How much?" they asked in unison.

Libby held up a finger, as she counted the tallies, on her sheet of paper. She finally finished counting, and she responded to her friends. "I have $ 545.50 on Cindy, and $475.50 on Betty." she said in response.

Cindy smiled victoriously, and Betty scowled. "People don't know a winner when they see one." she said, sarcastically.

Cindy smirked at her friend. "Actually, they _do_. That's why I have more." she replied. Betty scowled again.

"Oh, well. It's a bigger payoff for the one who will win the bet, anyways." Betty said confidently.

Libby chuckled. "Can you blame them? After what Cin did to Butch today, I'm surprised that _everyone _didn't bet on her—_no _offense, Betty. I'm also surprised that Butch showed up." Libby commented. Cindy looked up at her friend.

"Butch came?" she asked warily. Libby nodded. Cindy sighed very deeply.

Betty chuckled. "Don't worry, Cin. He wants to keep his body in one piece. I'm positive that he won't start anything." Betty said, comfortingly. Cindy nodded.

"Okay, well, let's do this. They _are _waiting for a fight, after all." Libby said, ushering her friends out of the back room, and into the center training room.

Libby took her seat next to Carl, as the two girls entered the ring, and bowed to each other.

The stands of students erupted into massive applause. Cindy and Betty assumed their fighting stances, each one unique to their styles, and they slowly began to circle each other. Cindy motioned towards Betty, telling her to throw the first punch. Betty shook her head, and repeated Cindy's action. Cindy smirked. '_On three_?' she mouthed to Betty. Betty smiled and nodded.

On the count of three, both girls charged at each other, furiously fighting to the finish. Betty delivered swift roundhouse kick to the head of her opponent, and Cindy blocked the attack, while grabbing Betty's raised foot with both of her hands. Cindy threw her body weight forward, and she fell on Betty, as Betty had her leg pinned parallel to her body, bending in the opposite direction that it was intended to bend.

Betty screamed, and she swiftly spun over, as she pinned Cindy beneath her, while she hammered Cindy's exposed side with a powerful punch. Cindy reeled back, and in that instance, Betty snapped her pinned leg out to its full length, and the moment that it hit the soft dojo floor, she powerfully propelled herself forward, using both feet. As Betty flew over Cindy's body, parallel to the ground, she launched past Cindy, and secured her ankles tightly around the blonde's neck, as she planted her hands on the floor, and flipped flawlessly forwards. Cindy was lying on her back before Betty's ankles had wrapped around her neck, and the moment that Betty flipped forwards, Cindy went with her, face first, and she hit the mat on the other side of Betty, face down, in front of her standing opponent. Betty didn't get to catch her breath.

Cindy threw all of her weight forward, as she spun skillfully away from Betty's fist, and Cindy swept Betty's feet out from under her. Cindy planted her hands in the ground, and she pushed off—_hard_. She launched herself upwards, and she caught Betty by surprise, as she grabbed Betty's throat just before she hit the ground.

Cindy spun under Betty's body, and she used her momentum to carry her, as she forcefully slammed Betty, throat first, into the dojo floor. As Betty fell, she quickly kicked Cindy's legs out from under her, and she followed her spin with a swift strike aimed at Cindy's chin. Betty's backhanded blow impacted Cindy under her chin, and she flew backwards, as Betty got to her feet.

Cindy recovered quickly, as Betty came charging at her once again. Cindy deftly ducked out of the way of a flurry of Betty's oncoming attacks, and she skillfully spun around Betty's body. With her back to Betty's back, Cindy quickly reached behind her, and she clasped her hands tightly around Betty's throat. Cindy pulled her hands up and over her head. Betty hit the floor, face first. Betty tried to get to her feet, but Cindy held her grip on her throat.

"Tap out." Cindy said.

"No!" came Betty's muffled reply from the floor. Cindy rolled her eyes, and she released her grip, as Betty launched to her feet once again. The two girls circled each other and they pounced once again.

Two hours later, both girls were beaten, bloody, and bruised all over. The fight ended in a draw. Everyone got their money back. Except Nick.

Libby shook her head, as she handed the girls two icepacks, as she sat back on her bed. They readily accepted them.

"You should have tapped out." Cindy said, through a swollen jaw.

Betty sighed. "There is just no pleasing you, is there?" Betty asked sarcastically, through bleeding lips, as the two girls erupted in laughter. Libby rolled her eyes. She needed new friends.

* * *

><p>"Neutron, don't be an idiot. You are not dying in here." Eddie spat at his cousin. He was disgusted that he would even suggest such a thing.<p>

Jimmy laughed. It was a mirthless, disdainful laugh. He was not laughing because he was amused. He was laughing because he was exhausted. "Eddie, for a genius, you're an idiot sometimes. I can barely lift my head, so walking is definitely not an option. You will _have _to leave me. Once you're out of here, they'll kill me. The _only _reason that I'm here, is so that they can have access to an organism with identical genes, and thus, have access to '_spare parts_,' when they damage _you_ in the program-progression. _You_ are the greatest goal that they have. _You _are their weapon. I am just the toolbox, to tune you up." Jimmy said sorrowfully.

Eddie spat on the filthy floor of his dark cell. He turned to see his cousin through the strong steel bars that separated their cells. Jimmy had bags under his eyes, and his haphazard honey-colored hair looked dirty, dingy, and deranged. His bold blue eyes had lost their luster, and his defined physical physique looked like it had become the target of constant beatings, bashings, and bludgeoning. Jimmy looked like he was dead. He _felt _like he was dead. But Eddie knew better. It was difficult to kill Jimmy Neutron, and Eddie knew that.

Eddie scoffed, and his experienced eyes swiftly scanned his cousin, before he made his own conclusions. "Yes, you are here, so I may have '_spare parts_,' but they don't want my '_spare parts_,' to be lackluster, or low-grade. They cannot proceed with their '_program_,' unless they have an adequate supply of '_spare parts_.' The '_Repair-Room_,' will rightfully restore you to full capacity, and when you are recovered, we will _escape_—by _any _means necessary." Eddie stated solemnly.

Jimmy sighed. "Eddie, I'm in no condition to—" Jimmy started, but his angry cousin cut him off adamantly.

"That is why you will _get _into that condition. They didn't just capture us, Neutron. They _took _us. They _killed _us. The old Jimmy is dead. He is buried right next to the person that I once was. I was killed on the day that they took us. But, I was also reborn on that day. I was reborn, because _you _saved my life. I owe you; it is only logical for me to repay you. Repaying you will build trust, and that will strengthen myself. That is the logical choice I have, because I _need _to be strong if I'm going to live. And I _am _going to live, because that is the entire point of life, the only logic I have left to follow. You and I are tied—tied by debt, a debt that will break us, only to help us rebuild ourselves. I owe you Neutron. And I _hate _owing people, so get your ass up, so I can repay that debt!" Eddie snapped. Jimmy chuckled.

"I missed the narcissistic, evil, demented asshole that you were, Eddie. It's good to have you back." Jimmy said, smiling slightly, and as he did so, he gestured to a careful carvings on the smooth concrete behind him. The carvings were a maze; they compromised a map, a route to an exit. These carvings marked each and every location that Eddie and Jimmy had been to during the past four years in the institution, during the "_program_." The carvings were fresh, and they were made by a genius, one who keep any and all of that information inside his head for four years, and then readily regurgitated it on a concrete wall. These carvings were made by Jimmy Neutron.

Eddie smirked. "Good to have you back, as well, whippy-dip." Eddie, smiling sadistically at the prospect of escaping—and cracking a few skulls along the way.

* * *

><p>April slept silently next to her brother, who had, for the first time in many months, a smile on his face. April would have to repair all of the androids in the training room tomorrow, but tonight, she was content to simply let her brother have this small joy, this small victory, because he deserved it, and also because her <em>large <em>victory was coming soon as well.

As the two Gorlockians slept, their ship shot speedily towards their next intended target. It shot towards "_The Cure_."

**A/N: Well, I hope that you all enjoyed that chapter. On a side-note, any and all of you, wonderful readers/reviewers, should surely check-out my profile, and see what other of my publicly posted FanFics might interest you! There may be a few. If you have read a book, then the chances are that I have read it as well, and if I have read it, then I'd love to talk about it! Message me, if any of you guys have any questions, or just want to chat, about ANYTHING. I'd love to hear from you! Well, stay tuned for the next update, and please click that subscribe/alert button, if you want the alerts for updates on this story, or simply message me, and ask me to message you every time I update, as I would be HAPPY to do so! So, please R&R, and stay tuned for the next update! **


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